The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1887-03-23


Philips mother had never let him out of
her sight in his childhood, so rare and precious
| had she held him.
Myra put her handkerchief to her ewes.
Il never thought I'd live to be insulted in
this way. And you would marry me. YOU
know"
Il didn't know l was marrying a fool. y
muttered Philip. sayagely.
Mammal mammal" shrieked Mrs. Dunno.
ray, and fell back in hysterical fit. Mamma
came, murmuring, -Oh, my poor poor
| darlingp Once more the man had to beat a
| retreat The moment ne was out of the house
the abused wife dried her eyes and sat bolt
upright. Philip wandered aimlessly to the
PARK and sat down. restless and discontented
Was all married peoples life like thisi But
ne had had his own way, TO lie sure His
marriage had been one of those cases wherein
all a mans best friends can do iS to stand
back and see him make an ass Of himself.
And while he was musing on matrimony, he
saw bright little phaeton fash by. Inside
of it was his wife, gay and pretty, chatting
with one whose polite attentions were not a
compliment TO lady, married or single. He
went home in fury When presently the
wife in all her poodle dog prettiness came
back scene took place which it will be quite
as well not TO repeat.
1t may be mentioned that similar scenes
followed. The discord became common talk.
Everybody took the part of the wife. Was
she not a sweet, pretty, childlike creature,
whom no one could help lovingf A man who
would mistreat her was a brute and
a monster Who would blame her if she
did seek little relief from the wretchedness
at homel There was no lack of those who did
not like Philip. His imperious temper and
naughty frankness had not tended to draw
friends around him. By degrees he got the
name of tyrannical husband and a bad man.
He heard the whispers about himself. He
saw his wife flirting openly with fops and
rakes He became young fellow fit for des-
perateness.
One evening he came home earlier than
usual The light burned low in his wife's
parlor He looked in. The man whom he
had seen riding in the park with Myra was
there. His arm was about her, he was mur-
muring low words in her ear, her head was
on his shoulder.
Philip was like tiger. With one hand he
gripped his wifes arm, and flung her against
the wall He took her companion by the
throat, before he had time to recover from
his first daze He throttled him until he was
purple and threw him out the door, and down
the steps. He was a giant
Then he clasped his hands to his temples,
and sat down to think a crumpled rose
colored object against the wall attracted his
sight 1t was his wife lying there insensible,
in the gay dress she had worn to receive that
man.
He had laid violent hands on woman.
Myra was in dead faint. He gathered
her up and carried her to her bed. He sent
for the doctor When she recovered con-
sciousness, and her eyes fell on him, she
tainted once more She was i'll for many
months.
From that night she never could endure the
sight of her husband. He wandered about
as one accursed. Her side of the story got
abroad. Philip never told his side, he was as
proud as Julius Cesar.
His wife hated him with a steady hate. 1t
was surprising that a creature so shallow and
tickle could cherish a passion so deep and
constant Feelings are often easy enough to
develop, though, when they are on the wrong
side.
Dumoray was at heart of chivalrous, no
BILE nature. He had used violence toward
woman, his own wife That thought never
left him, night or day. He hated himself.
Could he do nothing to make amendsG Moth
ing He might live TO be hundred years old,
and make every hour period of expiation,
but he could never be the same in his own
eyes again That thought was the most
agonizing noble soul always cares more
for its own respect than for the respect of
others
Myra could easily have had separation.
She did not seem to care for it, however.
He mentioned it to her.
"You want to get rid of me, now that you
have killed me, do you?" she said, queru-
lously.
"God knows do not, Myra," he said "1f
there was anything that would make things
right God knows would do it."
aThere is nothing that will make things
right. l hate you! Look what you have
brought me TO- And you would marry me.
What do you bring all those children in here
forl You do it to vex me. You know 1
hate children. There, am going off again.
Give me my drops and go away"
| He looked at her. Was she losing her
minds She caught the thought in his brain,
with mental keenness she had never shown
before her illness.
@Yes, I'm going crazy, and you have made
me so. Give me my drops, I tell you, and go
away"
He obeyed He went into the corridor, and
walked the floor He sent for the family
physician, and asked him anxious questions.
The family physician answered shortly;
our wife Is an opium eater.
What life was in store for these two!
The high born soul needs only one lesson.
Philip had had his lesson He was never the
same again from the night he had struck his
wife. He became the gentlest, most patient
of men. His boys were growing to be bright,
intelligent little creatures. He devoted him.
self to them. He was in place of mother to
the bereft infants All the happiness of his
life he found with them.
By degrees his wife quite lost her mind.
| He would not put the insane woman away in
an asylum. He accepted the care of her as
| part of his punishment. He tended her
wants and humored every whim of the poor,
| crazed creature. She retained still CLEANS of
recollection. The most vivid was her hatred
of Philip She never forgot that in her most
| demented moments. She knew him and her
| boys. For the children in her sane days she
| had had little fondness. Now one of the
| CLEANS of remembrance that was left her told
| her Philip loved them. Therefore she hated
them Her insane fancies took shape in one
intense idea-revenge on Philip Dumoray.
| She became cunning, dangerous lunatic.
Philip had her watched night and day. He
| kept himself away from her. The sight Of
| him irritated her uncontrollably.
He slept in the room alone with his boys
| He would not permit them in care of another
| at night. lest harm should come to them from
| their insane mother. 1t was touching to see
| how he tended them and how much they
| were to him From caring so constantly for
| these helpless ones he came to care for
Others, too, and think of them. He lost him
| self in self forgetfulness and sweet thought
| fulness for others, this selfwilled, fiery tenn
pered youth who had always had his own
way.
| Time glides ON alike to the happy and
| miserable What cares Time He will not
| hold his glass back to give one hour more of
| youth to a Cleopatra. He will not hasten it
| to shorten by so much as one second the tor
ment of a martyr in flames
Philip Dumoray's boys were years old.
| All the tenderness of his powerful nature
| went out to them They slept in little bed
| beside his own. He hung over them long and
fondly one night, studying each child-feature,
listening to their softly falling baby breath.
| How lovely they were, lying there in their
| white bed, The rosy faces were flushed with
sleep. the milk white baby arms were flung
above their heads. The rings of bright hair
hung damp and warm about their pretty
4 brows
ssGod bless them r. mumured Philip.
He went to his couch and was shortly in q
deep slumber. He had not slept 50 soundly
for years. he recalled afterwards.
How long he had been asleep be did not
know He was suddenly awakened with an
awful horror at his throat. He only knew
something was strangling him. something
was being pressed steadily down upon his
/ mouth and nose He threw his arms con-
vulsively upward His hands caught a hu.
man form, which glided from his grasp.
With last effort be threw the thing, what
ever it was, from his face. 1t was pillow.
He tried to spring to his feet but fell back,
weak and helpless He saw his wife gliding